J: (with equally feigned furrowed brow of incredulity and a subtle smirk of defiance and self-satisfaction) “Hmmmm, OkAAAy, well then how about The Mixed Green Summer Salad with feta and scallops?”

W: “Well that, we can certainly do sir!”

J: (inner voice) Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?”

W: “Excuse me sir! How is The Mixed Green Summer Salad with feta and scallops?”

J: (beaming with enthusiastic curled-corner-lipped sarcasm) “Fantastic! It’s almost exactly the same as your Mediterranean Summer Salad with Feta and Shrimp, but this one instead has scallops, and is shrimpless.”

W: (with oblivious sincerity or stark theatrical brilliance) “Why I’m happy you’re enjoying it sir, and I apologize that we couldn’t have accommodated your preferences on The Mediterranean Summer Salad with Feta and Shrimp, but I will most definitely inform the chef of how much you’ve enjoyed this one!”

Like a languishing
Federico F film
steamy summer nights
mirror,
flicker,
and roll foggily
on Tevere’s rippleless, rushing
black waters
tacit coy voracities
lie barely, just beneath
seductive, full-lipped smiles
untill we meet again:
good riddance!
I will miss you…
all the while
one meteoric moment mutually possessed
forever
and never
again, and again